Sometimes a knife is just a knife
by QuiaVeritatis
Summary: Erotic Knife Day contribution.


Erotic Knife Challenge

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, and WB, among others.

Special thanks to Beta Redroan for providing the punch line.

* * *

"V?" What are you doing, Sweetheart?

"Getting ready"

"To do what?"

"To go out."

"Is that a euphemism for 'kill some people?'"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Evey watched him open a cabinet and remove his knife belt. He drew it out slowly and laid it down on the dressing table, smoothing the leather with his glove, fingering the slots the blades would soon enter. She saw him tilt the mask, glancing at her. "Eve. Don't you have something to do?" His voice was low and quiet. There was a slight warning in the timbre.

"Not really. I was reading some D.H. Lawrence and thought I would come looking for you."

"Not tonight, Eve. I have some things to do."

"Yes. I gathered as much." Evey leaned in a little closer, ignoring the warning. He stared at her for a long moment before turning away and pulling out a shallow drawer in the cabinet. A tray of knives nestled in black velvet gradually emerged; the steely teeth caught the light from the mirror as one by one they slid into view. They glittered. "Ooohh, shiny," Evey breathed. They were beautiful.

"Eve. I baked some shortbread this morning. Why don't you put the kettle on and have some tea with your Lawrence?" He slid the drawer back in slowly. Evey watched it enter the cabinet, smoothly, like it was lubricated. Each knife disappeared one by one into the dark, their little reflections from the dressing mirror winked out as they were pushed back into the slot. He turned, facing her, his hand behind his back.

"Uhm," she said absently, noticing he kept the tips of his fingers on the drawer's knob. "I don't want tea with my Lawrence. I want something else."

"I need to get started, Eve. You are slowing me down."

"Sorry, sorry. I'll be quiet. I won't disturb you."

"You already have."

She sidled against him. "Slide the drawer out again. Do it slowly."

"What?" His hair swung against his shoulders as he cocked his head.

"You know. Slide the drawer out again. Slowly, like you did the first time."

He paused, she heard him suck in air through the mouth hole, and then the black gloved fingers tightened on the knob as the drawer slid out into the light again. Evey drew in a little breath as the many long knives flashed with reflected light. She reached out a probing finger.

"No." He grabbed her wrist. "Don't touch."

"I want to."

"No. They are dangerous. And you might smudge one."

"You are dangerous," she retorted, trying to get her wrist back, "And what's a smudge when soon they will be covered with gore?"

"Good point." He released her wrist. She extended her finger to the nearest blade. She touched the cold steel with the tip of her finger. It seemed to warm immediately in response to her touch. "Careful," he cautioned, "they are bigger than they look."

"I can see that. They look so small and soft in the drawer, like liquid silver, but if I picked one up, cradled it in my hand…I would see that it becomes larger, stiff, hard, a real weapon." She moved to do just that. He stepped closer to her; she could feel his body heat on her face. A glove poised over the drawer and he indicated a certain long knife with his index finger.

"That one is particularly well-balanced," he murmured. "Try that one."

Eve picked it up, it was heavy. She realized she needed two hands. She grasped the pommel in one hand and lay the blade carefully across her other palm. "It is beautiful," she whispered.

"I know," he whispered back. She felt wisps of his warm breath ruffle the curls on the top of her head. She leaned back against him very slightly, just enough to feel the edges of his doublet on her back. "And when I thrust with it, its aim is true." Evey felt a little thrust of his thigh against her hip.

"Can I try?"

"I think not. It is too big for a woman."

"I can handle it. I can take it."

"I don't think you can handle the entire length."

"I am flexible."

"But the blade is not."

"No. It appears to be very …rigid."

"Yessssss," he hissed, the sibilant sound of his silky voice slithered across her cheek. Something rigid was pressed firmly against her back. She lifted the knife and held it out before her eyes, giving him a sidelong glance above and behind her. She watched the eye holes follow the blade.

"It is heavy, and solid, and …thick," she said to the mask. "I believe it needs to be forced into its sheath." She handed it to him slowly, watching him. He took the long steely knife from her, held it up to the lights, then with the tip of his glove guiding the tip of the blade, he thrust it into the belt with one swift, sure motion. The knife zinged into its place on the belt.

"Oh, God," Evey shuddered, "Do that again." She was already reaching for another knife from the velvet tray.

He held the black glove out to her and she carefully laid the second knife across his palm, watching him. The leather fingers closed around the grip, then opened slowly, then closed again. Evey looked up at the inscrutable mask, letting him see her eyes, dark in the half-light. His body blocked the light from the mirror, but her pupils dilated with more than shadow. He opened his fingers again; the shining shaft lay turgid against the smooth leather. She put her finger on the grip then slid it up to the tiny cross guard, then back down to the pommel. A nearly imperceptible shake wobbled the glove. Evey did it again, two fingers this time. She stroked the grip from pommel to the bolster then back again and again until the black flingers closed over the thick grip, trapping her own slender white fingers against the metal. Behind her she felt him press himself against her back.

"You are getting fingerprints on my shaft," he intoned. Again his words tumbled through her hair with warm puffs of his breath.

She shivered a little with delight, then answered him, "It is tempered, now. Tested and refined. Tempered steel is the very finest. You know that. My fingers have improved the quality of this…shaft," she said.

"Indeed." He lifted the knife slowly into the air, watching her all the while. His arm paused for effect before he thrust it with a flourish into the belt. Evey gave a little gasp as the cross guard met the sheath. She quickly snatched a third knife from the drawer. This one she did not relinquish, but held it tightly in her hands, point downward. She turned around to face him, both hands on the grip. "I like the feel of this weapon. I feel powerful. Safe. With this in my hand I feel I can control the world."

He bent lower, she watched the dark dark eye- holes come closer to her face. After a pause he spoke, low and deep. "A woman's hand has always controlled the world. A woman's hand on a man's pommel is the most powerful weapon in the world. She can change the course of a war. With the stroke of her finger she can condemn her enemies, plead mercy for her friends and convince the devil himself to take a day off."

"Ah," Evey drew back as he advanced upon her. She backed up until she felt the cabinet press into her shoulders. "That is true," she whispered. The mask was inches from her nose, his hair swung forward to brush against her cheeks as he loomed over her. Evey pulled the blade in closer between her breasts as he took another half step to sandwich her neatly between his body and the cabinet. A dozen brass knobs poked her back and reminded her of his mission. "When you go, I would like to keep this one here with me tonight, for…uh…for uhm…protection." Her voice lied to him. She knew he heard it. She could tell by the way the mask tilted lightly to the side.

"Leave one of them behind?" He murmured. He gently removed the knife from her hand. "Never." She could see only the mask and his shoulders; she heard the zing as that blade was thrust into its sheath.

"Then, what? What?" She asked him as one of his hands reached out around her and touched the drawer.

"I think I shall reprieve my enemies for one night," he said. "A woman's hand has convinced me that these sharp fangs will not rip at anyone's throat tonight." He pulled the drawer out slowly to it full length, lightly touched the smoothness inside. His voice had a velvet softness to it as he spoke. "And see, my Love, these yielding folds of fabric, carefully nesting the firm blades." The finger lifted the edge of one of the knives. "You see how the multiple folds reach out and draw the knives inside, encompassing and enveloping the long length of each glinting tooth."

A gloved hand carefully cupped her face, Eve could smell the leathery heat and the steely cold bite of the scent the knives had left on his palm. The smooth supple leather stroked her cheek. "So soft, so warm," he hummed, "the folds take it inside, holding it, absorbing it. Protecting it." The mask came down to her ear, she felt it vibrate against her as he continued, "deeper and deeper into the dark abyss…"

"Of the cabinet…" Evey prompted.

He took in a breath. "Yes, the cabinet. Right."

"I think…I think…" Evey struggled for her next word. It was hard to think with him so close, so near, crushing her with his presence. He held her against his body, rubbing his hands up and down her back, pressing her into him. In his chest she heard the rumble of his voice as he continued.

"I am thinking that there is a knife you have not seen tonight, one that yearns for its sheath. One that reaches for its scabbard with an insistent..." he pressed his hips against her, "force."

"You've never," she breathed," let me play with them before."

"Would you like to?" He asked with a soft lilt in his voice.

"Will it have a happy ending?"

"As only warm steel can deliver."


End file.
